Everybody Have a Taquito

Summer's already more than half over, guys. This sucks. 

This sucks because school is starting soon and school usually equals work for me. Not, like, a lot of work because I am a champ at doing as little work as possible. 

But presumably some amount of work will need to be done in order to obtain my stupid college degree. Ugh, effort. Effort is the worst. 

But, yeah. Summer. I have had various adventures so far, each as wacky as the last. 

(I will level with you. That is a lie. There has been minimal wackiness. Most of my adventures have involved me being by myself and watching a lot of cartoons. Like...my little brother and I watched every episode of Ninjago. The fact that he was there makes it a tiny bit better, maybe, but I was legitimately invested in it after a while. I'd give it three out of five ninja stars. Watch it if you have a small child and are not allowed to play video games with the small child in the room because of "blood" and "violence" and "no, Danielle. Just no." Anyway.) 

A little while ago, my sisters and I had a girls day for my little sisters sixteenth birthday party. Unfortunately, this involved pedicures. I really really really do not like it when people touch my feet. Like, I'm weird about it. Or weirder than usual, I guess. It's like going to the dentist but for feet. They even have the same lil drill and stuff.

So, when I was there, instead of getting a pedicure and biting back screams of horror the whole time, I spent the whole time chilling in the corner. Like a boss. A really awkward and uncomfortable boss. Yeah.

Anyway. My last year of school is coming up. The fact that I have no life plans after that is probably kind of concerning. Like, I'm legitimately concerned. I'm being serious about this. I am seriously worried about the lack of plans I have after college.

Am I going to do anything to combat this problem? Probably not. My usual problem solving philosophy is to ignore things until they go away. Sometimes it works, sometimes my water gets shut off. So, you know, pros and cons.

Speaking of problems, my parents had a talk with me about my drinking problem the other day. And by drinking problem, I mean my problem with drinking way way way way too much apple juice. 

I just really like it okay? I can stop any time I want. I don't have a problem, YOU HAVE A PROBLEM. 

Yeah. Between this and all of the cartoons, I think that I might actually be five years old. 

But, legit, like the only place's I've driven myself anywhere this summer were various grocery stores to get juice and literally nothing else. And yes, before you ask, it was necessary to go to different stores every time. Do you know what happens to people who become "regulars" at grocery stores? You don't?

Well...neither do I. But I don't want to find out! 

I know how working at boring, minimum wage jobs is. It involves a lot of standing, staring and judging people. There is so much judging at grocery stores. So much. And I don't want to be that weird girl who buys gallons of apple juice. That girl is going to die alone in a house full of cats who will eat her corpse. 

I don't even like cats that much.

Urgh. My life, you guys. My life. 

Oh, adding to the things that make me a literal five year old, I have been stupid obsessed with laser tag lately. I have like no money and I have been spending all of that no money on laser tag. 

I REALLY LIKE IT YOU GUYS. 

It's like a video game but in real life. I'm actually reasonably good at it. I mean, most of the people that I'm shooting are in elementary school, but they're littler than me so they're smaller targets! They have the advantage! I am almost positive that the average elementary schooler is smaller than me. 

They also play a lot more Call of Duty than me if the way they were swearing was an indication. Also, they called me a n00b like three times (the l33tsp34k was implied). 

Also, they were super mean. I told off one of my friends for, like, relentlessly attacking this little guy. "Don't shoot five year olds!" Was my precise phrasing. I remember this because after I said it, the kid I was talking about turned around with this completely disgusted look on his eyes and shouted, "I'm seven and a half!" with so much disgust in his voice that I was surprised I didn't spontaneously combust under the sheer force of his hatred. 

Then he called me a bitch. 

So I shot him. 

I don't like that word, kid, unless I am the one using it. 

But, yeah, other than being called mean names by seven and a half year olds, laser tag has been a huge success. Five out of five. Would recommend. 

Hmmmm. 

Well, that's pretty much all I got for y'all right now. I could go on, of course. I could always go on. I have a problem with over-sharing and also I am pretty sure I have some form of attention-deficit-ness that makes long, unconnected rambles a thing that I am very excellent at. 

But, I figure you have loved ones or at least taquitos to get back to. 

But, real fast, while we're on the subject of taquitos, does anyone want a box of 57, wait, 52 frozen taquitos? I meant to buy a box of twelve and I got a box of 57 instead. Who even needs that many taquitos? I certainly do not. I mean, I've had them since, like, February and I've eaten five of them. 

I'd have a taquito party or something, but that would involve effort and we all know how I feel about effort! 

I like taquitos more than effort. And I freaking hate taquitios. So, so, so much. 

I should go. I'm getting unreasonably angry about the money I wasted buying that many stupid taquitos. I'm probs going to go shake my fist at the sky and shout "TAAAAAAAAQUUUUUIIIITOOOOOOOS!" In a dramatic fashion. 

Shut up, it is totally justified. 

Laters. 

One Does Not Simply Get an Internship

Yesterday I had to walk a mile and a half with cold mashed potatoes in my shoes. No, I have not pledged to some sort of strange fraternity or sorority or whatever. It's just another side effect of my lovely job. 

My paycheck is another side effect, but that one is one I actually, you know, like. 

So here's what happened. I was just chilling, doing my thing and putting dishes back. Then, some puny little high schooler tripped and dropped a plate of mashed potatoes on my shoes. 

I would just like to ask...

Why do you have an entire plate of mashed potatoes??? Are you a hobbit or something? An Irishman in the 1800s? An Irish hobbit? No one likes potatoes that much. They're awful and starchy and the ones at my work are not made from real potatoes, they're made from awkward potato flakes that come in a big box. 

The worst part was what the kid said afterwards. He just looked at me and went, "looks like you got potatoed." 

Potato is not a verb. It is not even sort of a verb. YOU CAN'T JUST MAKE UP WORDS LIKE THAT. SOCIETY HAS RULES FOR A REASON AND ONE OF THOSE RULES IS THAT YOU DON'T JUST MAKE UP WORDS LIKE THAT!!!!

It isn't a verb. 

I, he, she, we potato. 

Just...no. 

The worst part was walking home. I am too stubborn to take buses. I am too stubborn to accept rides. It's a character flaw. I'll admit it. 

And it led to me walking in squishy mashed potato shoes. Ugh. It was horrid. 

Speaking of things that are horrid...I have to talk to my internship coordinator this week. Here's the thing...I don't want to coordinate an internship. Last time I interned, I ended up hiding in a warehouse, stalking a hot boy and being renamed Jennifer. 

It was a weird time in my life. 

But, no. They're going to ask me what I want to do with my life. I don't know. I don't know what I want to do with my life. Um...finish my degree? I guess? I'm not actually all that interested in it? 

Yeah, this is going to go really well. 

And by really well, I mean I'm probably going to get yelled at. I hate getting yelled at. For whatever reason, people just seem to like yelling at me though. Do I just have one of those faces? One of those faces that you just want to yell at?

Ugh. I really don't know what to do here. My life is stupid and college is stupid and internships are stupid and I really don't want to sell lawn mowers again. 

I was so bad at it. 

I built a fort, hid in the warehouse and played games on my iphone. I did a terrible job. I can admit that. That's something I can admit now. I was the intern from hell or at least somewhere hell-adjacent. 

I don't want to inflict myself on anyone. 

I also don't want to leave my apartment. I like my apartment. There are waffles there and tea that I ordered from teavana and my best friend/xbox. 

Anyway, moving on from all of that bound-to-be-unpleasantness...more unpleasantness! 

There is supposed to be some sort of all-the-snow storm tonight. While I'm at work. And, because of my aforementioned refusal to take the bus or accept rides, I'm going to have to trek home in that. I DON'T WANT TO. I REALLY DON'T WANT TO. Also, I forgot my hat so my unnaturally small ears will be sad and cold. And sad. 

You know, once winter is over, I am going to have literally nothing to complain about. 

I should go. 

The snow awaits. 

Ways to Avoid Studying and Help the Blind

I have a criminology test tomorrow that I should be studying for. Therefore...blog time! 

I really should study thought. Criminology is a class that I never, ever pay attention in. It's not my fault, though. The professor is probably the worst lecturer ever. Seriously. Watching cartoons for an hour would probably be more informative. Or listening to the lecture in German or something, I don't know. I do know that she, my professor, likes to copy things word for word from our book onto powerpoint slides in point 12 font and read them to us. Word for word.

If we were a class full of blind people, then that would be awesome. As it is, we only have one blind person in the class and, while I'm sure he's getting a lot out of it, the rest of us can read those slides faster than she can and with fewer pronunciation errors. 

It's usually cool, though. 

I'm just on pintrest the whole time pinning things to my two wedding boards. Yes, I know I'm perpetually single. It's not weird that I have two wedding boards and no boyfriend to love me. I just want to wear a pretty dress and have a whole day where everyone is required to look at me. 

Shut up. 

Anyway, my latest attempt to learn another language has been foiled. I guess I can add Japanese to the pile of languages I tried and failed to learn. That pile already has Latin, French, Russian, Farsi, Pig Latin, Elvish and Spanish three times. I seriously hate myself for being unable to speak anything but english. And I don't even speak english well. 

I think the language-learning part of my brain had to be discarded to make room for all the awesomeness that I just naturally contain. That or it was broken during the "stroke-like- event" that I had last year. 

That was fun. 

Ugh. My notes from my criminology class are just sitting here, staring at me. Get off my back, criminology notes! I'm busy right now! 

Okay, so other class that I hate is walking. You're probably shaking your head and saying something like, "Walking? Really, Danielle? I knew you were impressively lazy, but are you really going to complain about walking class?" 

You don't even know. 

You don't even know what I'm going through. I never knew that people could walk so fast. It's like...sprint-walking or something. I keep almost tripping over my abnormally large feet. (cool story...I had to buy my new shoes in the men's section. They're a size 11...in mens. That's like a 13 in women's.) 

You'd think that having freak-feet would make walking long distances easier. Lies. They just make you flat-footed so you have to stomp around the place like an arthritic godzilla. Or a heavy-set camel. Or an obese third-grader. Or a fish that spontaneously grew stumpy legs. 

So, yeah. My feet. They're stupid. 

Also, I think that my fitness teacher has decided to make me her "project." Like, if she encourages me enough, I will spontaneously become an expert at fitness walking. I'm sorry, but that is not going to happen. My feet will always be big and stupid and I will always be lazy and unmotivated to do anything but watch netflix and eat pizza. 

Mmmm...pizza. 

Pizza bagel bites are awesome, by the way. Not that it has anything to do with anything...but the fact still stands. Pizza bagels kick ass. 

This blog feels fairly boring. Sorry. I can't accidentally sexually harass boys every week. Somebody might get wise and report me to university PD. 

Ha...like they're real cops of something. Plus, I'm a criminal justice major. We're all on the same team, bros. 

I should go. My criminology notes beckon. 

Hell is Other People (And Big Feet)

Hey there...Danielle in Sociology class here.

I'm so bored. So, the other day my biology professor just said that there's "no way to escape learning." For one, that sounds rather frightening. Are you going to hunt me down and force me to read a textbook at gunpoint?

 "You will learn, defiant student!" 

"No, no, please! Anything but that! Anything but learning!" 

"Learn or I shoot!" 

"Give me ignorance or give me death!"

 Two, I so totally can. Haha, I defy you, biology professor! I should be listening to the lecture...instead I'm writing a devilishly amusing blog! Learning, ha...school is for chumps.

So...my ongoing quest for college-friends has hit another tiny bump. This bump, unlike the others, is not due to my undeserved sense of superiority or my unwillingness to ever leave my room. This bump is made entirely of social awkwardness. And also feet. 

It happened this morning. I was on my way to class, listening to my music, just as chill as you please. I was like a normal human for five seconds almost. Then I tripped over my stupid feet. A boy who was walking near me glanced over and said something along the lines of "are you okay?" 

Now this is the point where most normal humans would nod and laugh or thank the kind stranger who had taken in interest in their present predicament. Not me. Nope. I will not settle for normal, comfortable social interaction. Instead I shouted the words, "Big Feet!" at him. 

Smooooth. 

I do have fairly large feet. They're size 12. My feet are not petite. When he looked confused and a little embarrassed, I decided to do the idiotic thing and keep talking. "I have big feet...I was, I was talking about my feet. They making walking a rather difficult endeavor." 

When he remained silent, I assumed that I should keep going. "Yeah...so I was talking about my feet. Not your feet. All thought, you know what they say about guys with big feet!" 

Once time travel is invented, I am using it to go back to that moment and shoot myself. I'm not kidding. 

Keep in mind, that I had headphones in for all of this so I was practically shouting these things. It was suuuuper. 

After an awkward half-bow half-curtsy deal, I scrambled up and used my big feet to get the hell out of there. So...that was my Tuesday.

Anyway, I've updated my blog. It's now DDB 2.0 (Danielle's Depressing Blog Two-Point-Oh). No gonna lie...it's pretty bitching. (I'm going to bring back the word bitching. I feel like it's going fairly well at this point.)

So...this school's temperatures are Dante's Inferno-themed today. My dorm room is literally the hottest place I have ever been. My Bio class is about the same temperature. But my sociology class decided that it was going to be different. My Bio class decided to be the ninth circle of hell today. For those of you not in the know, that means that my bio class (and the ninth circle of Danielle-hell) is really, really, really cold.

Also, Judas might be here. I don't know yet.

How am I supposed to dress for these ever-fluctuating temperatures? Wear short shorts and a parka? Snow pants and a tank top? 

Maybe the hipster I saw the other day with jeans, no shirt and a beanie had the right idea. Ha, as if. Hipsters never have the right idea. Expect being hit by buses. That's a right idea, all you hipsters out there. Think of the volume of people who get hit by buses. Not very high, right? Right. So, you'd be super un-mainstream. 

You're welcome, world. Thanks to me, Danielle L Renckly, there are no more hipsters. They were all hit by buses...and died. 

I should go...there are probably a dozen or so people left on campus who I haven't made uncomfortable yet. That needs to be remedied.

Day Thirty-Nine of College: Creepy-Weird-Hand-Flippers

Today...


I hate feet. Specifically, my feet. Well, that's not true. I hate all feet really. They're like creepy-weird-hand-flippers. But, back to my feet. My entire family has creepy-long finger-toes. Seriously. Most of my toes are longer than my pinky. I hate looking at them. Can you get toe-related plastic-surgery? I bet you can. People with freaky long noses can get normal noses. Why can't I get normal-length toes? 


Also, why can't I have naturally blue hair? Is that too much to ask? 


Stupid laws of nature. 


Also, I'm still single. Just throwin that out there.


I also hate doing laundry. Laundry sucks. I mean, college-laundry sucks worst of all. You have to lug all of your stuff down the hall and into the laundry room and then you realize that, of course, you forgot quarters and laundry soap. And then you go back to your room and realize that you have no quarters and no laundry soap. What are you supposed to do after that unpleasant realization? Drag your dirty laundry back to your room and shove it back into your closest? Beg random strangers for soap and quarters? Try to hot-wire the washer? Cry? 


Well, I've tried all of these things. None are all that effective. 


Also, who liked my video-blog? Huh? I did. Mostly cause I'm vain and like to hear the sound of my own voice. It's one of the reasons that I talk to myself so much. The other reason is that my beta fish is much less friendly than my turtle. And my turtle wasn't all that friendly. 


I miss him. 


Also, I'm supposed to be writing a speech right now. But...speeches are for chumps. Ha...I was never on speech team...speech team is for nerds... Moving on. I don't have a topic picked out. I thought about talking about how emerging media was changing the way that we get news...but researching that felt suspiciously like work. I never research stuff unless it sounds like fun. Or do anything unless it sounds like fun. 


Maybe I should take a look at my decision-making process. 


Nah. 


That'd be work. 


And I hate work. 


Danielle Out.